


Pyrefly of Wilting Roses

by inkcavity



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcavity/pseuds/inkcavity
Summary: Lorenz knows his father will get after him if he makes any disgruntled noises or disgusted expression, even if it were about the taste of iron that Lorenz finds distasteful; instead he remains neutral, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and praying to the Goddess (if there is one, of course) that everything will go smoothly.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 1





	Pyrefly of Wilting Roses

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm writing this because I want to try a character study slash portrait as well as try to understand and like Lorenz as a character. It's been through many trial and error that I've tried, but I can't seem to like him although I think he's interesting. So, I'm giving this a shot. Here's to hoping I will learn to like him again eventually. Feedback on his character and character analysis is highly welcome. Oh, and if you want a certain ship for this story, please tell me what ship you have in mind. I was thinking Ferdie and Lorenz, but I don't really know. Any little bit helps. Much thanks!

Year 1, and the war has begun. His father is distraught and uptight with him as ever. Lorenz feels as if he's bitten a hole through his lower lip as a metallic taste settles on his tongue. Saliva and blood pool inside his mouth and he swallows, resisting a face when the mixture slides down his throat.

He can't make a face. He won't. Lorenz knows his father will get after him if he makes any disgruntled noises or disgusted expression, even if it were about the taste of iron that Lorenz finds distasteful; instead he remains neutral, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and praying to the Goddess (if there is one, of course) that everything will go smoothly. 

After all, he's no reprobate or unscrupulous noble! He must hold himself with his head high and with an air of confidence and certainty. At least, that's what his father had told him. But Lorenz does not heed the word of Count Gloucester so easily; this meeting has yet to start, and yet Lorenz is already teetering at the edge of his seat, ready to pounce towards the door and leave. 

With the Adrestian Army gathering their men and supplies, though, Lorenz understands that it's simply his job as a noble to be here. It always has been. He fiddles with the uniform he's worn far too many times before, deft fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt and picks at each golden button. The rose he's pinned to his coat is already wilting. 

Anxiety rises as each noble from the most important houses in the Alliance walk into the conference hall, each with their own scowls or neutral, unbothered expressions. Lorenz holds back a sigh, knowing that this is all just the calm before the storm. He only hopes he can make a good case with his father today.

Minutes turn to hours as the conference passes by, the sands of time moving ever so slowly. Each passing minute proves to be more testing than the previous, Lorenz having to hold back any unsavory statements as his father, rambunctious and flashy as ever, makes his points at the table. He doesn't agree with everything his father says, oh no, but he finds that speaking to him in private is always the better option when it comes to stating his opinions. 

It's better to be scolded and reprimanded in private than to be belittled in front of many others. So, Lorenz holds his tongue between his teeth, blood and saliva still flooding his taste buds as he watches on silently. 

It's hours later when the meeting is finally adjourned, everyone retiring to their own suites and studies to once again discuss decisions made at the round table, and Lorenz finds he's unsure of the decisions his father has made. Nervous as he is, he still takes the step he needs to talk to his father about the future of their territory. It’s the noble thing to do, after all. Like the ebb and flow of the tides on a shore, his anxiety washes over him in uneven waves, some in short, sporadic bursts, some in long, erratic bumbles. His fingers twitch as he addresses his concerns with his father in their suite, once again fiddling with the wilting rose pinned to his uniform suit. 

Discussion turns to arguments, and with his head held high and tears welled up in his eyes, Lorenz retires to his own bed, bidding his father a good night in hopes (and silent prayers to a Goddess that might not exist) that perhaps his words will be listened to. It’s all in vain, he thinks as he undresses, that this war will be lost if his family is idle and does nothing, but what can he do? One boy against an army? It seems like an impossible feat all of its own. Once his head hits the pillow, Lorenz’s mind wanders off into the clouds and daydreams he wishes he could have had while at the round table conference earlier, but to no avail. It ails him. 

‘Nobles have no need for daydreaming,’ his father had told him one sunny afternoon when, during one of the few conferences he was invited to, he had dozed off on accident after daydreaming about the rose gardens back at home, ‘daydreaming is for those who have not what they want. And you, what are you missing?’ What is he missing? He’s whole, he still has his family amidst the war, still healthy and free of ailment...so why does this make him feel so empty? 

Like a dying pyrefly, his eyes follow the last traces of sunlight that filter in through the large stained windows of his home, soft hues and shades of pinks, reds, purples and golds meshing together on his laying form as purple lashes flutter tiredly, head drowsy with sleep. Goodness, it’s not even dusk yet. But, Lorenz thinks one last time before his eyes flutter shut, pyreflies die in the bright of twilight. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, consider donating to my [ko-fi](ko-fi.com/dreamylucifer) or screaming at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/vergilsimp).


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